


heaven help the fools who fall in love

by problematiquefave



Series: AUgust 2020 [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel/Demon Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Witch Hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25723366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematiquefave/pseuds/problematiquefave
Summary: She snorts. “I’m a demon, B.”“You’re a piss-poor one,” she snaps. “Your target is there”—she indicates with the axe—“and you’re up here with me.”Faith cocks a brow; the motion causes Buffy to pull her axe close to her chest. “What if my target is you?”Her eyes narrow. “You’re wasting your time.”
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers
Series: AUgust 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859875
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61
Collections: AUgust 2020





	heaven help the fools who fall in love

The angelic choir is unlike any you have heard.

The songs they sing, in praise of the lord, wouldn’t be consider pleasant by any mortal – even if hearing them didn’t cause that mortal’s brain to leak out their ears.

The seraphim, who screech “ _Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory!”_ over the crackling of their fiery wings. The cherubim with their four faces – the caterwauling of a man, the bellowing of an ox, the roaring of a lion, and the scream of an eagle. The Thrones, who hum in the tones of old monks. This is the first order.

The second order – the dominions, the virtues, the powers – appear human. They make human noises. But angels have never had vocal lessons, have never been taught to sing. They worship God as they were made to; they were not made to win competitions. These are the angels that keep order. The dominions manage the other angels, the virtues deliver signs and make miracles on earth, and the powers are warriors – they take up armor and weaponry to fight the forces of evil.

The angels, the archangels (with a lower case a), and the principalities are the third order. As unremarkable as they are, the choir couldn’t sing without them. Their tasks may be small, beneath the attentions of the higher orders, but they are crucial to the well-oiled functions of heaven.

There are many stories to be told of the angels in the choir – too many, quite frankly. You may find the documentation of some in other works. In many they play minor roles, messengers and miracle-makers. Those are stories concerned with humans; this story couldn’t care less for them.

The harmony of the choir fills the air around them when the dark-haired, dark-eyed power leans over and whispers to her. “I get wanting praise but how valuable is the praise of an ox head?” She sticks out her tongue, the corners of her lips curved upwards.

The blonde-haired, green-eyed power glances at her, her expression pinched with displeasure. “It is not our place to question.”

For the sake of simplicity, we shall call these two Dark Power and Blonde Power. They will have names later but, for now, only important angels have names. They are not important.

“Not a question,” Dark Power says, her grin falling. “Just a preference.”

“It is God’s preference. Yours should not differ.”

Rolling her eyes, Dark Power looks away. “If I wasn’t meant to, I shouldn’t have been made with that ability.”

Blonde Power’s face wrinkles but the other angel doesn’t look her way.

Dark Power throws down her knife, metal clanging against the stone floor of the dorms.

“Why are our lives less valuable than an archangel’s?”

“Do not question our Creator,” Blonde Power snaps, her brows plunging downwards. The other angel turns to her, the corner of her lip twitching upwards; the crooked grin is as dark as her hair and causes Blonde Power’s stomach to twist and turn. Except, she doesn’t have a stomach.

Dark Power steps towards her, unperturbed by her raised chin and hard-set features. “If I was not made to question, why was I given the ability to?”

“To prove our loyalty,” she says. “We are given the option to question and the choice not to. We are told the dangers of doing so.”

She rolls her eyes. “Corruption. Sin. Falling. Breaking every bone in your body – do we even have bones?”

“We are made of something.”

She snorts. “I’d like to know what.”

Blonde Power shakes her head. “Don’t. You are a good fighter. A valuable soldier.”

“I want to be more than that.”

Wants. Desires. Questions. Doubt.

Everyone knows what those lead to.

Blonde Power shouldn’t be surprised when she isn’t present at rollcall. Isn’t, not really – not after all the warnings she’s issued. Still, a pang of guilt strikes her at the sight of the empty spot the other angel was meant to stand in.

She gets over it. The memories of her darkly gleaming eyes and wicked red grin fade. If every angel lingered on their lost siblings, heaven’s will would never be done. She doesn’t speak to the angel who fills her spot in rollcall or stands beside her in choir. There is no reason to.

Seeing her again should be no less surprising than when she disappeared. It takes a while to heal from the fall, to get established in the ranks of hell. But so long as the demons didn’t kill her, of course she finds her way to the other side of the battlefield.

“ _B_.” The wicked red grin wraps around the letter, her eyes focused on Blonde Power.

“I have no name.”

“You should. We all should.” She motions around, light reflecting off the edge of her knife. It’s the one she used to carry but the steel is now stained red. “They named me Faith. I like it.”

“I don’t care.”

B hefts her axe, swinging it towards Faith’s neck. She jumps back, kicking out at her back. B stumbles but recovers before the knife can catch her skin.

Faith twirls the knife. “We have bones, y’know. And falling is just like they say – you break every one of them from your toes to the back of your skull.”

“ _I don’t care_.”

Lunging with her axe, Faith knocks it to the side. The edge of the knife digs into her cheek, a sharp caress.

“I care. You should.” Her warm breath washes over B’s face, a hint of smoke in her nose. Dark eyes search her face. “Because they don’t care about you up there. You’re nothing to them. You’re disposable. You fall – on the battlefield or from the clouds – and you’re replaced in the morning.”

Using the blunt side of the axe, B shoves her away. A trickle of blood drips from her chin.

“That’s how it’s meant to be.”

Faith shakes her head. “No. No, it doesn’t have to be that way.”

The cut on her cheek scabs over. She sings in the choir, chin raised and eyes forward. Someone calls her _Power_ to get her attention; she frowns as she asks what they want, realizing how quickly she’d accepted Faith’s name.

“Why are you protecting him?” Faith asks her, balancing in the rafters with B. Although her axe is at the ready, Faith’s knife is in her belt.

“It’s my assignment,” she answers. “To see that he lives to meet his fate.”

“ _His fate is to die_.”

“For our Creator.”

“Seriously, B,” she says, rolling her eyes and slinging her leg over the edge so she’s straddling the beam. B’s grip tightens around her axe, her brain calculating the potential for attack and her hands hesitating on the strike. Whether Faith realizes it, she shows no sign. “It’s his fate to die. It’s your fate to die. Our _Creator_ gets to live forever, doing whatever they fancy, and we just turn to dust.”

“That is sacrilege.”

She snorts. “I’m a demon, B.”

B scoffs. “You’re a piss-poor one,” she snaps. “Your target is there”—she indicates with the axe—“and you’re up here with me.”

Faith cocks a brow; the motion causes B to pull her axe close to her chest. “What if my target is you?”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re wasting your time.”

She shrugs, her gaze falling towards the sleeping human. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

An order to take care of a demon leads her to a human village in a land they call France.

They also take her straight to Faith.

She holds a small wooden bowl with what appears to be colored ice, her knife tucked into her waist band. When B merely frowns at the bowl, Faith shakes it.

“It’s good.”

B’s gaze flicks up, her eyes narrowed. “I need no sustenance.”

“And neither do I,” Faith says with a roll of her eyes. “But food is nice. It’s one of the greatest pleasures these humans have devised. Of course—” She looks around, the grin falling from her features. “Our _Creator_ doesn’t give them many chances to enjoy it. They make the ingredients scarce and costly. They make them work so hard that they’re too tired to enjoy it. They could make the lives of these creatures they _cherish_ so easy and yet…” She snorts.

“Suffering is necessary.”

“Is it though?” she asks, brow raised.

“I don’t have time for your questions, _demon_.” B moves to push past her, freezing as something cold knocks her arm. It’s the bowl of shaved ice.

“Just try it. It’s not poisoned, and it won’t make you fall.”

B glances between the bowl and Faith’s dark eyes. “Even though that is your stated goal?”

Her lips curl. “ _Even though_.”

Shaved ice is nice. The coldness on her tongue causes her to recognize the sweltering summer heat and the sticky fruit syrup drizzled over top is the first time she’s ever tasted something _sweet_.

It’s not long before they meet again. Standing so near the fire, she should feel its heat against her skin – it’s not until Faith stops beside her, wrapping a hand around her wrist that she does.

“One of yours?” B asks.

Faith snorts. “None of them are. None of them _ever_ were.”

It’s as she suspected but it’d been her task to investigate – to determine whether the rumors of humans being gifted magic for worshipping Satan were true.

“You didn’t know that?” B meets Faith’s eyes, sees the disgust like sparks of fire in her eyes. She shakes her head. “Our _Creator_ didn’t tell you that?”

“Our Creator does not speak to us much,” she admits.

Faith turns, looking back to the fire. The accused witch’s screams have softened into whimpers, her body engulfed in the fire. “They have the power to stop this. It’s Their name being used to justify this. _Why?_ ”

B watches her lips as Faith questions and…

And she wonders too.

Wetting her lower lip, she gives one, small nod. “I don’t know.”

The world spins before her eyes – one color bleeding into the next, shapes growing fuzzy. She sways, a deep, red line cut across her stomach. Before she can fall, arms wrap around her.

“Alright B”—it’s Faith’s voice in her ears, a note of _something_ clinging to her words—“time to get you out of here.”

Being dragged does little to soothe her hurts but it’s better than being trampled by the fighting angels and demons – or being delivered the final blow by an opportunistic opponent. Which is what Faith _should_ be.

“Kill me,” she breathes, looking into Faith’s eyes as she leans back against the rock she’s been propped up against.

“Never.” Her red lips curl into a smile. “I told you what my mission is.”

“Who gave you that mission?”

She shifts her shoulders, softly admitting, “I did.” When B’s brow furrows, she continues. “Hell doesn’t really care what we do. Don’t worship our _Creator_ – get out if you do. Otherwise, chaos is encouraged but it’s your immortal life to live.”

“What about this?” her eyes flick to the battle in the distance.

“A past time. I mean – just because we fell doesn’t mean we weren’t still made to fight. Got those same urges and got an axe to grind against the faithful.”

She sucks in an aborted gasp, jerking forward. “My axe.”

Faith shakes her head. “I’ll get it. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

She regards Faith for a moment before settling back, satisfied with her sincerity. “What else do you do?”

Faith hums. B likes the sound, rich like velvet. “Some of us like to tempt and torment humans. Not necessarily my thing – don’t give a damn about them, really. Some of us like to fight you. I definitely don’t get looked down on because I want to tempt an angel. Others are more concerned with bureaucracy – actually running hell. But none of us sing. No need for a choir because no one demands our fealty like that.”

Her expression is blank as she listens to Faith’s answer. Finally, in a barely audible voice, she says, “I hate choir.”

It draws a chuckle from Faith. “Anyone who likes it is beyond saving.”

As the fighting dwindles, her comrades find her. Faith is gone by that point – none of their conversation is overheard. B is brought back to heaven, treated and confined to the infirmary except for choir. Even with a hole in her gut, she must sing.

Sunlight glints off the edge of her axe as Faith holds it out to her.

“Told you I’d get it,” she says with a grin. “Sorry for the wait.”

B takes it with ginger fingers. “It’s alright. I was… Out of commission.”

“Shocker,” she deadpans. “You all patched up now?”

Nodding, she raises her head and meets Faith’s eyes. “I would have healed sooner had they not made me sing.”

Her lips twitch. “Well, you know what to do if you’re sick of choir.”

“I do.” The thumping of her heart against her ribcage is unfamiliar, not entirely pleasant, but not unwelcome.

B stares over the edge of the clouds.

_It’s a long way down_.

“Why?” she whispers to the empty air. The lack of answer is slightly disappointing but, as the wind whistles past her, she realizes she’s _never_ heard their Creator speak.

Every bone breaks, but Faith is there, pulling her up, taking her somewhere safe, setting her down on a bed that envelopes her in softness. She sits at her side, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Now that you’re here,” she says, “I think you need a real name.”

Her voice is barely more than a breath. “What would you give me?”

Her eyes slide shut as Faith hums. “I think… I think you should be Buffy.”

_Buffy_.

_Buffy and Faith_.

She smiles despite the excruciating pain. “I like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> i don't usually go for aus when i'm writing a pairing for the first time but i'm not mad about this one.
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> [my tumblr.](https://problematiquefics.tumblr.com/)


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